


What the Water Gave Me

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Seasickness, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the chaos of Kirkwall Cullen is invited to be the Commander of the Inquisition. He looks forward to another chance to make a difference, hoping to do better, and be better, than he was in the order. He does not look forward to the ship ride back to Ferelden. That is, until he meets the mysterious and charming Altus who offers a distraction from nausea of sea travel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen stood on the deck of the ship, feeling the cool ocean air fill his lungs and clear his head. He didn't dare cast his eyes lower than the horizon to the water that tossed the boat around, sending his dinner tumbling in his stomach. Nor did he dare look behind him just yet at the far off docks of Kirkwall and their looming twin statues, a testament of the horror that he had left behind. He knew he would be better off if he went to his quarters under the deck, but the idea of locking himself away in the small space for the remainder of the journey made him uneasy. So instead he chose to stay in his spot on the deck, leaning on the railing to counter his unsteady legs.

"How you holding up Curly?" He heard from behind him. He could barely nod acknowledgement to Varric as the dwarf approached before a particularly rough role of the ocean around them caused him to blanch, gripping the railing so tightly the skin of his knuckles nearly cracked.

"That good?" Varric chuckled. Though they could barely even be called acquaintances during Cullen's time in Kirkwall the dwarf had proven himself to be good company thus far.

"Sea travel does not agree with me," The Templar stated, as he attempted to get better footing on the slippery deck. "I did not expect to need to do so again, at least not for quite some time."

"Maybe be you'd be better off below the deck? I rounded up a few of the sailors and refugees for a game of wicked grace later tonight, you're welcome to join us."

"Perhaps another time. I... I enjoy the stars." Cullen lied, not wanting to explain his distaste for small places to the dwarf.

"Fair enough, offer stands if you change your mind. Maker knows you could do to wind down a bit," the dwarf said, taking his leave with a shrug.

Hours pass, just staring out to the horizon, ignoring the itch under his skin and the ache behind his eyes. It had been four years since the chantry explosion, four years since his Knight Commander lost what was left of her mind and he stood beside the Champion, but it had only been two months since his last taste of lyrium. Just the thought of it makes his body tingle. _Just a little, just to hold me over until the ship docks. Just enough to end the pain and no more. I'll stop after, no more after the ship docks…_

"Pardon?" He said, snapping out of his thoughts with a bit of a start when he realized someone else was trying to talk to him. He looked at the other man who stared at him with a raised eyebrow. He almost couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed over this gorgeous new stranger. His skin looked smooth and soft and perfectly tan, a contrast to the light, scar tattered skin of his own. His eyes were gray as the storm clouds that had started gathering in the sky above them. His full lips twitched slightly in amusement under a ridiculously styled mustache that should not have looked as enticing as it did. He held something out towards Cullen. "Um, I w-what?" Cullen stuttered with a blush, realizing he missed what the had said _again._

"Candied ginger," the man explained with a lilting accent that Cullen recognized as Tevinter. "You seem to take to sea travel no better than I, it should help with the nausea."

Cullen eyed the small pouch in the Tevinter's hand before shaking his head slightly. He could tell the man was a mage, even if he wasn't taking the lyrium anymore, he could still sense the magic just under the others skin. The man's face fell a bit as he withdrew his hand but he quickly recovered with a dazzling smile.

"How rude of me," the man says bowing slightly. "Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Tevinter. You looked a tad out of sorts I thought you could use some company, but I see perhaps I was wrong."

"And you thought I would want the company of a Magister?" Cullen couldn't help the scowl on his face as he spoke. He also couldn't help feeling a bit guilty at the venom in his voice as the gorgeous man across from him seemed to deflate a bit as he let out a sigh. He couldn't quite read his expression, and silently cursed himself. _This isn't how you should treat him, just because he's a mage! You want to be better than that, you ARE better than that._

"I apologize," He said, tearing his eyes from the mage, Dorian. "That was... Unworthy of me."

"No harm done!” Dorian replies with a bit too much false cheer. “I expected no less when I decided to come south. That being said I am no Magister. not everyone from the Imperium is a Magister here to steal away your children in the middle of the night for unspeakable blood rituals. Though I am a bit curious as to how you know I'm a mage..."

Cullen's eyes flick up to meet with grey ones for a moment before staring back over the ocean. He considers just ignoring the man, not sure he wanted to talk about himself to this stranger, but what harm could be had just talking to him. It was unlikely they would meet again once they made it back to land.

"I am, was, a Templar."

"Was? So you left the order?" Dorian asked, leaning next to Cullen on the railing with his head cocked in curiosity, pointedly not looking out towards the tossing waves of the ocean.

"I, yes, that is, I-I was stationed in Kirkwall..." He gripped tightly at the railing his jaw set as he tried to find words. It proved to be unnecessary as the mage cut him off.

"I see, say no more. This is obviously a sensitive subject. I should not have asked. I'm assuming this is the reason you are traveling to Ferelden? I noticed your accent, are you returning home?"

"I am returning with an acquaintance who offered me a chance to do good work. While I do still believe in the order I believe it is flawed, I can do better elsewhere. I do have family in Ferelden but I do not expect to see them for some time if at all. I did not ever expect to return," Cullen paused, realizing he never introduced himself. He began to reach his hand to the back of his neck but stalled halfway and awkwardly reached forward and offered it to the mage. "I'm Cullen by the way, Cullen Rutherford."

Dorian flashed him another breathtaking smile before grasping his hand. "A pleasure," he practically purred as he leaned in, just the slightest bit, causing Cullen's cheeks to burn. He was saved from trying to sputter out a response by a loud peal of thunder that accompanied increasingly volatile waves rocking the ship. Dorian stumbled a bit as a queasy look washed over his face. Cullen reached out to steady him, but was barely doing any better for himself. Rain started falling heavily on them, quickly soaking through their clothes.

"That is my cue to take my leave Ser Rutherford. Perhaps we can continue our chat of your noble purpose on a later occasion," The mage said, already shivering. He righted himself a bit before bowing his head and turning to take his leave barely leaving Cullen a chance to respond.

"I think I'd like that," Cullen said quietly just barely keeping from stuttering anymore. The grin Dorian shot him over his shoulder as he sauntered away was enough to bring the blonds blush back ten fold. The way he swayed his hips as he walked wasn't helping. Cullen wasn't sure how long he stared after the mage after he walked away but he was already half soaked in rain when he came back to his senses. _Maker's Breath_ he sighed to himself before turning to make his way to his quarters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow I didn't actually expect anyone to read this! Thank you for reading and for the kudos!!! I had some extra time after work and decided to bust this out while the idea was still fresh in my head. This fic is going to end up being MUCH longer than I originally anticipated. I have a better grasp of how I want all this to play out but I'm not sure when I'll get to work on it again. I'll try to get another chapter out by the end of next week.

Morning came with cold sweats and dry heaving into an already full bucket. Cullen had already woken twice in the night to empty the contents of his stomach, unsure if it was from the seasickness or from lyrium withdrawal. The dark of the small, confined room did nothing to put him at ease. He was given a private cabin to himself, across from the larger room where the Seeker and Sister Nightingale were boarded. He knew he should be grateful, many of the other passengers would have given anything for the privacy of the cramped room. For that much he was grateful, waking up every few hours to heave into a bucket would be embarrassing enough, but he isn't quite sure he could handle anyone seeing him faced with the terrors of his nightmares. The trapped feeling the narrow room gave him was no help against the nightmares though.

He stood uneasily and walked over to a basin of clean water he had in the corner of his room, and picked up the small cracked mirror and washcloth he had placed next to it, and did his best to make himself at least a little presentable. He had no way of hiding the sleepless look the dark circles under his eyes gave him but he could at least try to tame his curls, though he was sure the humidity on the deck would just send them askew the moment he stepped outside. He dared not try to shave as the end half of a storm still rocked the ship. He wasn't sure he would ever be happy with the finished product of his preening, but it was good enough for him to start the day.

He gave himself one last glance in the mirror. His skin was worryingly pale and he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. His eyes were slightly sunken into his skull, as where his cheeks. He ran his thumb over his lip where he received a deep cut at the battle at the gallows. The wound itself was fully healed, but the scar it left would act as a permanent reminder of his past failures. His mind couldn't help but wander to a different face. A handsome, tanned face. A perfectly symmetrical face, save an endearing little mole just under the right eye. With a perfectly style mustache that framed a perfect smile. Cullen blushed at his reflection before quickly turning away and leaving.

He spent a few hours in the morning with Cassandra, discussing their upcoming plans for the Inquisition and its forces before he was finally able to make his way to the deck. As he made his way through the corridors of the ship he heard a youthful sounding squeal of laughter, followed by a hushed whisper of a familiar voice. There was a light crackling sound followed by a dreamy sounding "wow" and Cullen could feel the pull of magic in the air. Against his better judgement he peered into the small room. In the middle of the room Dorian kneeled on the floor with soft look in his eyes that left Cullen a little breathless. His ever dazzling smile was aimed at a young girl, no more than seven, who jumped delightedly with an excited smile on her face as she demanded "Another!"

"As you wish, my lady," Dorian said in his most charming voice as he conjured a spark in his hand. It twisted and changed color as it grew into the shape of lark. It sparked in amazing colors that Cullen had never seen in fire in the past before fizzling out. Cullen clamped his eyes shut, feeling a thin layer of sweat break on his skin. The world seemed to spin around him as his stomach dropped. He knew he could blame neither the withdrawal nor seasickness as he all but fled the sight, barely hearing the giddy peal of laughter from the little girl as he ran to the deck. _Pathetic_ he thought to himself. _You can't even handle parlor tricks meant to entertain a child! How can you expect to run an army?_

It wasn't until Cullen found his way to his usual spot on the deck, gripping the railing, his eyes tight shut, taking in the fresh air of the open sea in deep, shaky breaths, that the world seemed to stop spinning. He ran his hand through his already unruly hair and silently cursed himself.

"Are you feeling unwell, Commander," Cullen heard behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Sister Nightingale standing behind him. She wore a polite smile, but her eyes were unreadable as she stepped forward gently clasping her hands in front of her.

"Ah, yes. Sea travel does not entirely agree with me." It wasn't entirely a lie, but knowing the spymaster it didn't matter. She already seemed to know all there was to know about almost everything. She had seen him at his worst, at Kinloch Hold, back before she was the left hand of the Divine, and was just the bardic companion of a single Grey Warden doing their best to save Thedas from another Blight, but she fully backed Cassandra's decision to ask him to be Commander of the Inquisition's forces. For that he was grateful, but she still left him feeling uneasy. He was never one for the more subtle approaches of bardic life, nor the theatrics of the Great Game and he felt he was always missing out on some important detail whenever he spoke with her.

"I see," she said, stepping up to stand next to him. "If this is a bad time I can return later."

"Not at all, My Lady, is there something I can help you with?"

"No need to be so formal," she said with a gentle laugh. "Please, call me Leliana. What I wanted to talk about is personal, actually. I was hoping to talk to you about your condition."

"Seasickness?" He asked lamely. He swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing that is not what she meant but not wishing to talk about the lyrium. He locked his eyes on the sun setting on the horizon, not feeling up to the task of making eye contact.

"I understand this is a... difficult subject for you, and I understand that you already have an agreement with Cassandra. I do not doubt that she can handle it if your condition proves to be a problem. I just wanted to check in on you. While I believe it is a bit," she paused, picking her words carefully. "Untimely, I think you are very brave in your decision. As long as you can sufficiently perform your duties I will support your decision." She lightly put her hand on his elbow as she continued. "Do not push yourself too hard Commander, I have faith in your abilities, as does Cassandra. Take care of yourself and do not be afraid to ask us if you need anything, or if you just need someone to talk to."

Cullen cautiously put his hand over hers, the one still on his elbow, and lightly squeezed it. “Thank you sist- Thank you, Leliana," he said. She rewarded him with a genuine smile and a nod of her head before she took her leave. He looked at the setting sun for a moment before his stomach grumbled a complaint at its emptiness. He let out a sigh as he turned to make his way to the ship's kitchen, it still being too early for dinner.

Cullen stood in front of his door. He wasn't sure he was quite ready to face the suffocating smallness of the quarters, but he also did not want to return to the deck and risk upchucking the first meal he was able to keep down in the past two days. He bit his lip in contemplation as he hesitantly lifted his hand to the doorknob. He was so focused on his internal debate that he didn’t hear anyone walking up behind him until they spoke. 

"Turning in already Curly? Nights still young."

"Oh, Varric, hello. I was... considering it."

"Well, if you're not ready to turn in why not come with me? Having some drinks with a few of the other passengers, maybe cards," the dwarf invited.

Cullen only had to consider the offer for a moment before accepting. He was more than happy to take the chance to avoid his quarters, even if just for a few hours. They made their way to the cargo hold together, where a small area was cleared. Some crates were arranged around the clearing, being used as makeshift chairs and tables. The little girl Cullen had seen with Dorian earlier quickly rushed towards them, an eager smile painted across her face. She stopped just short of colliding with Varric, and immediately demanded he tell everyone a story he apparently told her earlier that day.

"Maybe later kiddo," Varric said with little chuckle, ruffling her hair. She stuck her tongue out at him before rushing to another man who scooped her in his arms and spun her around. "Are you bothering everyone again little bird?" He heard the man ask. Cullen felt a smile tug at his lips as the girl made a face that could only be described as offended at the accusation. Cullen glanced around at the other people who had gathered. There were maybe ten others there. Weary faces taking a moment from their worries, chatting with each other. He took in the faces, one by one before finally landing on a familiar face sitting off towards the corner, away from the other passengers, some of which occasionally glared in his direction. Dorian sat alone, reclined comfortably on his makeshift chair with is legs propped up on another crate, a glass of wine dangling from one hand, the bottle sitting on a larger crate next to a deck of cards and a few tankards. When Dorian finally glanced up his eyes met Cullen's. The mage’s lips pulled into a smirk as the blond quickly averted his eyes with a blush.

Cullen's pulse quickened as Varric started making his way to the mage. He followed, not really knowing what else to do, trying not to think about the way he fled the man earlier that day. He felt heat in his face as he silently prayed that he had not noticed him.

"Sparkler!" Varric's voice brought Cullen's mind back to the present. "How's my favorite Magister?"

"Altus!" The mage exclaimed rolling his eyes. "How many times am I going to have to explain that before it sticks with somebody." He shifted in his seat, removing his legs from the crate they were propped up on and poured out a second glass of wine, which he offered the dwarf. He held the bottle out to Cullen who shook his head, reaching instead for one of the tankards on the table, sniffing at the contents before raising it to his lips. He wanted to greet the mage but couldn't seem to find any words.

"Joining us tonight Cullen? I do hope you enjoy losing, I've been on quite a roll," the mage said with a sly smile. Varric snorted into his glass.

"More like dumb luck. Don't let him get to you Curly, Sparkler here is all talk."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice," Cullen said rubbing at the back of his neck as he took a seat at the table. "You might have to go over the rules for me."

As Varric explained the rules of wicked grace to him the little girl and her father came over and sat between Cullen and Dorian. The girl almost immediately turned her attention to the mage, who seemed content to entertain her. Shortly after a dour looking elf and a weary looking woman sat at the farthest end of the table from Dorian, openly glaring at the mage, but if he noticed he paid them no mind, instead talking quietly to the young girl with sweeping arm motions and a wide smile. Lastly an older dwarven man with a limp made his way over and Varric dealt out the first hand.

Cullen barely noticed as time passed and the night started to dwindle away. The young father had to excuse himself as he carried the little girl, whom Cullen had heard the older dwarf call Eliese, out of the room shortly after she fell asleep. It wasn't much longer after that Cullen also excused himself, he had lost enough for one night, possibly in no small part due to the way his eyes kept drifting away from his cards to stare at a particular mage out of the corner of his eye. A mage who he pretended he didn't notice watch him as he walked out of the room. Perhaps it was the drinking he partook in, but Cullen barely felt the fear that usually gripped him as he waited for sleep. Instead he slowly drifted off with pleasant smile on his lips, though the peace did not last the night as withdrawal clawed coldly at his bones as the night passed into morning.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had not yet graced the sky when Cullen woke. He was covered in sweat, his sheets thrown haphazardly off of his body. Though it felt like his blood was on fire he shivered in the cool air. He tried to sit up, but unceremoniously fell back onto his bed with a groan as the sharp pain in his head shot down his spine and through the rest of his body. He stayed there for some time, eyes clamped shut and jaw tight, and waited for the ache to subside.

Eventually he sat up and let out a long, slow, shuddering breath, then stood to walk over to the water basin. The surface of the water had a thin layer of frost on the top that he dispersed with his hand before submerging his head. The bitter coldness hurdled his senses into awareness, grounding him. His body urged him to pull back immediately from the harsh cold, but he stayed for a moment, focusing on the water as it drowned out all other things in the world. There was no sound past the bubbling of his exhales, no feeling other than the stinging cold of the water, and somehow he found a peace in that. For a moment there was nothing. Just the cold water as his vision blurred and his lungs ached in protest.

When he finally pulled away with it was with gasping breaths. The icy water dripped down his neck onto his already damp shirt. He just stood there for a while, staring into his reflection in the water but not really seeing, waiting for his mind to fully wake. He let out a sigh, before turning back to his bed and peeling his shirt off, stretching in the process, his shoulders and back cracking in opposition. He dropped his shirt to the ground with a wet smack, and sat back on his bed in a way that let him see out of his small porthole.

He watched lazily, waiting for the the first rays of the sun to start peeking out from the horizon. He didn't remember what he dreamed of that night. He honestly didn't want to. The seemingly ever present sense of fear was still clawing at the back of his mind, threatening to pull him back under. Back into that place that still haunted him every night, where the walls were painted with the blood of his brothers-in-arms, where demons cooed to him in gentle voices with wicked smiles. _Think of something else._ He urged himself. _Anything else._

So he thinks of Dorian instead. He thinks about his perfect caramel skin. He wonders if it’s as silky soft as it looks. Thinks of his velvety laugh and perfect smile, sparkling teeth framed by full lips. He wonders what those lips taste like. How would they feel pressed to his own? Trailing wet kisses down his neck to his chest, followed by teeth and tongue? He thinks of those stormy grey eyes, staring up at him as he works his mouth lower. Cullen lightly trails a hand down his body as he lets out a shudder. He bites down on his knuckle to silence a moan as he rubs himself through the fabric of his pants.

He tries to imagine the sounds Dorian would make as he pushes this pants and underclothes off his hips. He imagines its Dorian's hand stroking him as his fingers wrap around his shaft. He tangles one hand in his hair as he strokes himself slowly, he wants it to last. He imagines Dorian's mouth on him again, full lips wrapped around his cock as the mage takes as much of him as he can, and he lets out a groan. The thought alone almost enough to unravel him as he thrusts into his fist. His hand moves faster as he draws closer to his end. His free hand clasps over his mouth to stifle his moans as he finds his release. His head falls back with a sigh as he lays there and his cheeks heat as he thinks about how he will look Dorian in the eyes next time he sees him. _Maker's breath_ , he sighs again before standing to wash for the day.

Dawn had still barely broken as Cullen walks out onto the deck. The sun was just finally breached the horizon, setting the sky aflame with reds and pinks, and the sight would have been breathtaking if not for the nausea that was already settling deep in the pit of his stomach. Cullen would be surprised to see anybody on the deck this early other than the crew, so to see Dorian there knowing that he had probably been out much later than himself the night before was not something he was expecting. He would be of a mind to turn back and run to his room as his face heated at the thought of what he had done not long ago, not sure how he can face the man just yet. That would be, if not for the scene he saw unfold before him.

Dorian was walking past a small group of deckhands as one spits at on his feet. Cullen is too far to hear what the man says but his companions whoop in agreement. Dorian sneers at him for a moment and Cullen finds his feet carrying him forward of their own volition, but Dorian's sneer eases into a wicked looking smirk as he says some rebuttal to the man that sends the group into fits of laughter. The deckhand turns on his heel with snarl before shouting, "That fucking 'Vint should go back where he bloody came from!" Spitting again onto the deck.

Dorian had already put a fair amount of space between himself and the remaining deckhands by the time Cullen makes his way to him, though some were still shouting crude taunts at him. He stood looking out toward the horizon with a frown, the early morning light painted his features in a way that made him look like a work of art and Cullen tried to ignore the way it made his heart race. When the mage looked up and saw Cullen approach he replaced his scowl with a pleasant smile and turned to greet the man. It was a seamless mask. If Cullen hadn’t seen what had happened he wouldn’t have been able to guess that the mage was upset at all. 

"What was that about?" Cullen asked before Dorian has time to say anything, throwing a glare over his shoulder at the offending deckhands.

"Oh that?" Dorian started, leaning back onto the railing with a flourish. "Well that kind gentleman was just giving me a fine southern welcome, nothing I'm not used to," he said with a bitter smile.

"You shouldn't have to be used to it," Cullen said, but Dorian responded with a curt laugh.

"If I remember correctly when I first approached you, you were not too keen on the idea of the 'company of a Magister'. I knew what I was getting myself into when I came south, and I've been in the Marches for some time. As you can imagine having lived in Kirkwall yourself 'vints aren't entirely welcome there," he said bitterly.

"I, that is, you..." Cullen sputtered looking at the gorgeous man standing before him. He hated the bitterness in his silky voice, the anger he saw twisting just under the surface of his polite smile. 

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said stepping closer with new found confidence. "It can be hard. I don't have good history with mages, but you do not deserve to be treated that way. I'm sorry to have contributed to the bigotry you must face everyday," he paused and bit his lip, embracing this sudden boldness he reached out to place a hand over Dorian's on the railing. "Perhaps I can make it up to you some time," he finished.

Even in this brief moment of brashness his face was as scarlet as the morning sky around them, and as Dorian hesitated to react he felt his confidence wane quickly. Dorian arched a brow at Cullen, giving him an incredulous look.

"Perhaps you can," he said with a sly smile, standing up off of the railing. Cullen pulled his hand away to rub at the back of his neck as he stepped back slightly to give the other man some space, his blush intensifying.

"But perhaps we can start with breakfast? I presume you haven't eaten yet?" Dorian said, phrasing it as a question.

"Yes, breakfast sounds good," Cullen replied with a shy smile, and they made their way to the mess hall together.

"I was surprised to see you out on the deck so early. You do not strike me as a morning person." He continued and Dorian responded with a low chuckle.

"Well, generally speaking I'm not, but seasickness and alcohol tend not to mix very well, and, well, I'll spare you the details, but I probably won't be combining the two in such excess again any time soon."

They continued to talk as they made their way to the mess hall, and through their meal. They spoke mostly of Dorian, his travels since he left Tevinter many years prior, mostly north of the Waking Sea, in the Free Marches, Antiva, Nevarra, even the Anderfels. They spoke of their hometowns and what it was like growing up as a noble in Tevinter as opposed to a Ferelden Templar, and they spoke of their shared love of chess.

There were not many other passengers in the mess hall so early but as their meal went on a slow trickle of people filed in. Cullen couldn't help but notice the glares that continuously found their way to Dorian. He even heard one mutter "Magister shit" as they walked by but other than a slight tug of a frown at Dorian's lips he paid no attention to the animosity aimed towards him.

After they finished eating they agreed on playing chess in Cullen's quarters. They made their way to Dorian's cot, in one of the large lodging rooms shared by the refugees on the ship. The room was mostly empty, as most of the passengers were at breakfast now, but it was easy to see that at night it would be cramped to accommodate all the refugees. Cullen took a moment to silently thank the Maker that he had private accommodations. 

"Fasta vass," Dorian hissed under his breath as they reached his cot. Cullen looked down at the large gash torn down the thin mattress of the cot that Dorian was scowling at.

"Dorian," Cullen started, but the mage cut him off.

"Don't," he said. "There's nothing to be done about it now, I'd rather just worry about it later," he continued, kneeling down to pull a locked trunk from under his vandalized cot. It was sturdy and expensive looking, and Cullen was a little surprised that it hadn't been taken, though there wouldn't be many places to hide it in the cramped lodgings. At a closer look the trunk had no lock, it was sealed with a rune that opened as Dorian channeled magic into it. When Dorian stood he held an ornately carved chess box in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other and slid the trunk back in place with his foot.

"Besides, I won’t let this one little setback ruin a fine morning with the company a dashing young Templar," the mage flashed Cullen one of the smiles that the man found so charming and his cheeks reddened again. Dorian motioned for him to lead the way and they started making their way to his quarters. Once they made it to the door Cullen flushed. He was immediately hit with the memory of what he had done that morning. Dorian quirked a brow as he noticed Cullen's hesitancy.

"Everything alright?" Dorian asked.

"Yes," Cullen said, cursing the waiver of his voice as he opened the door letting the mage in before him. He bit his lip and tried not to think about how the man who he pleasured himself thinking about but a few hours ago was now sitting on his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god this chapter gave me no end of grief. I'm still not even remotely happy with it but glaring at my computer screen anymore today is going to be the end of me. The next chapter will go much smoother and I apologize for any mistakes in this, it is again unbeta'd. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for the kudos <3 I am busy every day off I have this week but I might be able to work on it after work. I'm actually looking forward to the next chapter, it will continue where this one leaves off and revolves around just the two of them interacting. It will also be the last chapter that takes place entirely on the boat so we'll finally get a change of scenery soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowow, I'm so sorry its been so long since I updated this! I really have no excuses. A big thanks to [Jack-the-Giantkiller](http://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionjack) for beta'ing this chapter for me <3 Hope you all enjoy  
> (oh yeah there's a bit of vomiting in this chapter, seasickness and all of that)

Dorian was stretched out leisurely on Cullen’s bed, propping his head up on his hand, openly observing Cullen as he sat on the edge of the bed, and contemplated his next move. Cullen felt his cheeks heat under Dorian’s scrutinizing stare. They fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after Cullen had pushed his luck and asked a question that was probably too personal about why Dorian left Tevinter. He gave a clipped answer about how his family did not agree with certain choices he made, and he did not agree with theirs, so he left. There was obviously more to it than that, but after that Dorian shut him out. 

“How long has it been since you were last in Ferelden?” Dorian asked, finally breaking the silence, shifting to sit cross-legged to make his move when Cullen was finished with his own turn. 

“I left shortly after the Blight, and haven’t returned since,” Cullen replied, nodding to Dorian as he silently offered to refill his glass. He shifted awkwardly, unable to make eye contact with the mage. This was not path he wanted to go down. At least not at the moment. Dorian just hummed thoughtfully, his eyes calculating.

“And you were a Templar at the time?” Cullen noded, sipping deeply from his wine. Dorian just made an understanding noise, and Cullen wondered what news of the Blight made it to Tevinter. If with just that information Dorian could piece together what happened. What he had been through. He didn’t dare ask. 

“I’ve only been to Ferelden briefly, a few times in the past. Once as a child, my father had business in Denerim and I accompanied him. All I remember was that everything smelled of wet dog and was dreadfully brown, and once more recently, after I left Tevinter. Everything was drab and stilled smelled of dog, but it was also painfully cold, so I didn’t bother to stay long. Even your southern summers couldn’t match the heat of winter in Qarinus,” Dorian ended with a nostalgic sigh.

“It will be winter in Ferelden when we dock, you do know that right?” Cullen asked with a smile tugging at his lips. He could already imagine how the mage would complain at the icy winters of Ferelden. Perhaps he would be staying farther north. Cullen almost wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure if it was his place. They were strangers, could barely be called friends. A strange thought as he leered at the mage propped on his bed. It was almost enough to laugh at. 

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Dorian grimaced. “Cold, mountains, snow, what are you doing to yourself, Dorian?” 

“Might I ask why you’re going to Ferelden? You could stay somewhere warmer, like Antiva, or possibly return to Tevinter.” Dorian paused for a moment and Cullen thought he might have put his foot in it again and braced for another awkward silence, but Dorian replied with an easy tone and a flourish of his hand, as if flicking the thought away. 

“And deprive the dreary south of my presence any longer? Perish the thought.”

“Yes, well, we were definitely lacking in handsome Altuses last time I was there. An odd commodity in a country with so much cold, drab browness, and dog smell it would seem. I’m not sure their delicate sensibilities could quite handle it.” That earned a slow, wicked smirk from the mage. 

“Are you sassing me, Ser Rutherford?” He said, leaning into Cullen’s space. Cullen’s breath hitched and his blush felt so intense he was almost sure Dorian could feel the heat of it at such close proximity. 

“Cullen.” He sounded too breathless to his own ears and clears his throat. “Please, call me Cullen.”

“Cullen,” the way Dorian purred his name sent a shiver down his spine and made his heart beat faster. He bit back a groan of disappointment when the other man leaned back out of his space. 

“Well, _Cullen_ , if you must know, I have some unfinished business with a former mentor of mine. After I’m done with that I’m not quite sure where I’ll be going. What of you? Returning after so long must be difficult.”

“As I’ve said before, I’m returning with an acquaintance, in hopes of doing some good. To fix the mistakes of my order, and the mistakes I made in its name,” Maker, but he sounded cliche. Dorian smiled slowly, a low chuckle shaking him. 

“Well aren’t we noble? You Fereldans really do corner the market on heroism don’t you? All very daring and fearless. Do women just swoon when you walk into the room? Or do you need to stand on a mountain in the sunset with a gentle breeze like on all the book covers? I can picture it now. ‘Templars and Temptations’ they’ll call it.”

“Oh Maker,” Cullen burst into laughter. “Please, for the love of Andraste don’t tell Varric, I don’t need him getting any ideas.”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear Cullen. This idea is all mine, if the whole pariah in a foreign land thing doesn’t work out for me I’ll have to fall back on my second plan of being a horrible romance writer. It will be my first hit I’m sure of it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll give Varric a run for his money,” Cullen chucked softly, shaking his head. The ship started rocking again and he swallowed down his nausea. Another more persistent shift of the ship sent about half the pieces tumbling off of the chess set onto the bed. 

“Oh, pity, I was just about to win,” Dorian sighed as Cullen leaned over to collect the scattered pieces.

“Of course you were,” Cullen smirked up at him. Another rock of the ship caused him to tumble forward. He caught himself just before falling into Dorian’s lap, bracing his hands on either his hips. He breathed in sharply staring down at Dorian’s abdomen where his shirt lifted slightly, showing a sliver of flawless bronze skin. 

“S-s-sorry,” he tried to stutter out an apology, his cheeks aflame. When he looked up at Dorian the man was sickly pale. “A-are you about to be sick?” He asked, suddenly feeling panicked as Dorian paused for a moment to think, then nodded almost frantically. 

Cullen led Dorian over to the bucket he had for when he was sick himself. Dorian stumbled forward, catching himself on the bucket just in time to vomit into without making a mess. Cullen couldn’t help but gag as the other man emptied his stomach. He rubbed soothing circles on the mages back as he tried to catch his breath, offering gentle encouragements. When he was finished Dorian righted himself, wiping his mouth as me grumbled Tevene curses. 

“Finished?” Cullen asked cautiously, staying near the bucket encase Dorian, or himself, were going to be sick again. 

“I believe so, yes. Terribly sorry about that,” Dorian grimaced, not making eye contact. 

“It’s fine. I’ve barely managed to keep a meal down this entire trip,” he said, hoping that it might add some comfort to Dorian’s embarrassment. 

“What a pair we make,” Dorian says, grabbing Cullen’s elbow as the ship rocks again, causing them to sway. He gives it a reassuring squeeze as Cullen groans, his stomach churning. He glanced out his porthole window and saw another storm raging outside. Dorian flushed a bit when he realized that he was still holding Cullen’s arm. “I should go.”

“What, Why?” This time it was Cullen who reached out to grab for Dorian, catching his hand. Dorian gaped at him for a moment and Cullen quickly let go of his hand, blushing at his own boldness. 

“I’m quite sure I’ve embarrassed myself enough for today. If I’m to be sick again I’d much rather not do so in front of any handsome men. I should also try to repair my cot, or at least find something to make a suitable replacement before nightfall.”

“Nonsense,” Cullen ignored the flutter of butterflies in his stomach that Dorian calling him handsome caused. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You don’t have to go.”

“I- that is,” Dorian was giving him a wary look as Cullen cut him off. 

“You could stay here I mean, for the night,” _Maker’s breath, stop talking_ Cullen thought to himself. “I mean, I have a mattress. A bed, that is. We could share. Not that we have to— what I mean is: I have room and I enjoy your company.” Cullen rubbed his hands over his face, his embarrassment causing a slight ache in his skull that he hoped would not intensify. “The ship is due to dock tomorrow, so it would only be for one night. It would be better than sleeping in such a crowded room on a mattress that's been near cut in half, and we can bring the rest of your things here. You wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else vandalizing your possessions.” 

It felt as though ages passed as he waited for Dorian’s response, the mage sizing him up the entire time. After a moment of weighing his options he let out a doleful sigh.

“I can’t promise I won’t be sick again,” he finally said, and Cullen couldn’t help an almost rueful chuckle. 

“Neither can I,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

The storm died out shortly after they retrieved the remainder of Dorian’s things, and they set the chess board for another match. They lost track of time in each other’s company and neither realized it was past supper time until Leliana knocked on Cullen’s door with a plate of sliced meats and fruits for him. She quirked a brow at Dorian as Cullen stammered out a thank you then nearly slammed the door in her face. They barely picked at the food, stomachs still not entirely settled from earlier as they set up another match. 

Dorian doesn’t vomit again that night, but Cullen does, twice. Dorian poured him a glass of water to rinse his mouth, and gently rubbed his back much, returning the favor. After the second time Cullen got sick they decided it was time to wash up and go to bed. Cullen was washing his face off while Dorian changed into something to sleep in, and he tried not to stare. He succeeded in not leering at the man as he changed, but couldn’t help but steal a few glances. He would have felt much more embarrassed about it if he hadn’t caught Dorian doing the same to him a few moments later. 

The easy companionship they had shared for most of the night evaporated into an uneasy awkwardness as they stared at the bed. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t been sitting together on it most of the day, taking turns to stretch out and lay down, but there was something more intimate in lying together, in sleeping together. Cullen took some comfort in the fact that Dorian looked just as awkward as he felt. He shrugged at the mage, a soft, lopsided smile gracing his lips as he crawled under the covers, leaving enough room for Dorian to lie down without touching each other.

Neither of them were able to get comfortable enough to sleep for the first hour, and Cullen started to think maybe this wasn’t the best idea. His heart was racing, he could hear his own blood rushing in his ears, and he was half certain Dorian could hear it too. At one point their hands brushed against each other. At first Dorian flinched away, but a few moments later Cullen could feel the warmth of his skin on the back of his hand again. They drift closer together until Cullen had one arm draped around Dorian's waist, is nuzzling at the back of his neck. He was tempted to wish Dorian a ‘good night’ but was worried speaking would ruin the moment. Instead he let out a content sigh and gave Dorian a gentle squeeze. The last thing he could remember before falling asleep was the pleased hum Dorian gave in response.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen was drifting slowly into wakefulness when a knock at his door chased away the last dregs of sleep. He stretched out his sore muscles as he yawned, feeling more rested than he had in a very long time. When his arm landed in the empty space beside him he sat up too quickly, sending his world spinning. Dorian was gone. The place in his bed that he had occupied was still slightly warm, but the man and all of his possessions were nowhere to be seen. Cullen felt his heart sinking in his chest, but before he had a chance to fully process his feelings there was another knock on the door, firmer and more insistent. He swallowed the unpleasant lump in his throat before speaking. 

“Just a moment,” he said, voice raw with more than just sleep. He quickly found his canteen, chugging the last of the water, and ran his hand through his sleep-mussed hair, trying to make himself somewhat presentable. When he opened the door Cassandra was leaning against the doorframe. 

“Good morning, Cullen,” she said, peering over his shoulder to see into his room. She let out a quiet noise of disappointment and Cullen raised a brow at her before she continued. “The ship has docked. We will be stopping for provisions in town, but hope to be moving again in a few hours,” she informed him. He just nodded, not wanting to speak aloud quite yet. It was good enough for her and she turned away. As he closed the door behind her he heard her inform someone, his guess would be Leliana, that he was alone, and no, there weren’t any handsome men in his bed. 

Cullen didn’t have many things to pack. He didn’t have many things to begin with and only took with him what was necessary for the trip, but as he was cleaning up he realized Dorian had left his chess set behind. He held the ornate box in his hand for a moment. A childish part of him wanted to throw it against the wall, but that wouldn’t achieve anything. He didn’t have any right to be angry. Dorian was practically a stranger, it didn’t matter that he made him feel more at ease than he’d felt in years. It didn’t matter that Cullen had slept better with Dorian in his arms than he had since before Kirkwall, before Kinloch.It didn’t matter that Cullen hadn’t thought of lyrium even once with the other man as a distraction. Dorian owed him nothing. 

He weighed the ornate box in his hand for a moment before putting it on his bed and finishing packing. He tried to leave it behind, and made it halfway down the hall before rushing back to shove the box in his bag. When he made it to the dock Leliana and Cassandra were already in town and Varric was waiting for him. 

“Have you seen Dorian?” Cullen asks immediately, wincing a bit at his own lack of subtlety. 

“Good morning to you too, Curly. Sorry, haven’t seen him all morning,” Varric gave him a sympathetic smile. “You doing ok? You look a bit rough.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” it was an obvious lie and he knew it. He also knew Varric wouldn’t press the issue. 

The journey to Haven was awful. Cullen wasn’t entirely sure he would survive it, and was certain if he did he would be in no shape to run an army. The first day on the road had been decent enough. His headache returned with a vengeance, accompanied by vertigo and nausea, making riding difficult. It was nothing he hadn’t grown used to, but he felt himself rapidly unraveling as the day went on. That night the fever came and everything fell apart. Days passed in a blur of dry heaving, crying, and nightmares. His blood was fire burning in his veins, his mouth and throat felt like they were full of broken glass that he choked on every breath. The song that was once a whisper in the back of his head was now a constant scream that blocked out all other thought. 

He remembered begging for lyrium or a merciful death every time Cassandra and Leliana checked on him. He remembered cursing and threatening and pleading when they refused him. Between those memories he was plagued by fever dreams. Nightmares of Kinloch hold. Of his brothers’ blood splattered on the walls, of demons tempting him and torturing him. Of abominations. His charges, the mages he was meant to protect, being torn apart by demons. Of Kirkwall. The screams of mages echoing in his ears as he did nothing. Of giant statues, the ever watching slaves of the city, coming to life, and more mages dying because of him and his lack of action. Of red lyrium corrupting and destroying. 

He also dreamed of Dorian. Dorian riding his cock, moaning his name, head thrown back in pleasure. Dorian laughing wickedly, grinning down at him with too sharp teeth. His eyes glowing as Cullen felt claws digging into his shoulder, tearing through his skin. He woke screaming, body thrashing violently. His eyes rolled back into his head and the world went black as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come. He was choking on his own vomit when he felt hands roll him onto his side and some distant voice screaming for a healer. _This how I die,_ he thought absently, even as he felt the healing magic seep into him. It made no difference. _This is how I die._

He slept for two days after that. A deep dreamless sleep that almost no one expected him to wake from. He was surprised to wake in Haven. Even more surprised to find sister Leliana praying beside him. His throat was raw, and tasted of blood, when he tried to speak all he could do was cough. As he stirred, Leliana stood and placed a hand against his forehead. She was speaking to someone he couldn’t see. One of her scouts most likely. When he tried to sit up her hands gently guided him back down. 

“Rest while you can Commander. The Inquisition will need you in top form, don’t push yourself before you are ready.” He fell back asleep after that, unsure of what the world would hold for him when he would wake again. 

In the months that passed, the world seemed to crumble around them. The conclave proved to be a tragedy, hundreds died, including the Divine, and a hole was torn in the sky that spewed more and more demons with each passing day. From the ashes of the conclave rose the Herald Of Andraste. A Dalish elf who had barely even heard of Andraste before now, with an anchor in their hand that might be Thedas’ only hope in closing the rifts that terrorize it. 

With the help of the Templars they managed to close the breach, but there was still much to do. Tonight, though, Haven celebrated. Cullen didn’t partake in the festivities; he was still recovering from the worst of his withdrawal, and though his symptoms seemed to be improving he was still plagued with headaches. He watched as people danced and drank and laughed together, and found his own simple kind of joy in their happiness. Until a scout came rushing to him with news of an army on the mountain. 

He rushed to find Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine and the Herald and briefed them on what he knew. When there was a banging on the gates the Herald rushed forward and Cullen followed close behind. He felt his heart stop for a moment when the doors flung open, a slight stutter as his world reeled. His body moved of its own accord, propelling him forward, dropping his sword as his arms closed around Dorian to help him stand. Maker’s breath what was Dorian doing here? 

His brain seemed to be working in slow motion, the world dragging on around them and it felt like a dream. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was; his dreams were often littered with corpses, and it wasn’t unusual for Dorian to make an appearance, even after all this time. He knew Dorian was speaking, he heard the words he said but he had trouble processing them. There was an army of mages, being controlled by a cult called the Venatori in service to something called the ‘Elder One’. 

He wanted to say something to Dorian, but he wasn’t sure what, and now was not the time. Now he needed to act. To command. He rallied his soldiers, and lead them as best he could. He lost track of Dorian in the chaos, and even while he brought more and more civilians to the chantry he couldn’t stop thinking of him. _Maker, keep him safe,_ he silently prayed. 

When Cullen finally saw Dorian again it was in the chantry, after the dragon descended on their little town. The mage was helping Chancellor Roderick, who had been injured while fighting a Venatori agent, through the doors. The Herald and their party rushed through soon after, Varric skidding to a halt when he saw the mage. 

“Sparkler?” He said, shock worn openly on his face. 

“The magister from the ship?” Cassandra asked, following up behind him. 

“Now is not the time for warm reunions,” the Herald cut them off. “Cullen I need a plan. Anything.”

After some arguing the Chancellor revealed an escape route he knew of from his pilgrimage. They would be able to save the people of Haven, but not without sacrifice. The Herald offered to stay behind to distract the Elder One to give everyone a chance to escape. Cullen flinched when he heard the beginning of the landslide, his heart ached for the hero they lost, but there would be time to mourn later. Right now the people need him. 

By the end of the night they had camp set up in a cave to protect them from the elements. Cullen didn’t think he would get a moment to himself, but when he found a brief window of opportunity he found himself seeking Dorian. He wasn’t entirely sure why, and he didn’t know what he would say, but he needed to see him, to know he was still alive. When he did find him he was in a heated argument with Cassandra, she was interrogating him, trying to figure out his connection with the Venatori and rebel mages, Varric was standing by his side, arguing his good merits. 

“Dorian,” he said, his voice sounding off to his own ears. As if it belonged to a stranger. 

“Cullen-” Dorian’s eyes were wide as Cullen marched up to him. He flinched for a moment when Cullen reached for him, as if he was expecting him to hit him. He let out a surprised noise when Cullen grasped his face, pulling him in for a rough kiss. He heard Cassandra gasp, and Varric’s surprised ‘Whoa there, Curly’ but he didn’t care. Dorian hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Cullen’s neck and pulled him closer. 

“I have to go,” Cullen said when he pulled away. “We need to start the search parties for stragglers. Find me later, please.” He gave Dorian’s hand a squeeze. Dorian hesitantly squeezed his hand back and nodded, grim-faced. 

“I’d like to help,” he said when Cullen started to walk away.

“You’ll be more use here, help the healers with the injured,” he leaned in and gave the mage a quick kiss on the cheek and waited for his ‘ok’ before turning to Cassandra. “You should come with me, I need you to lead one of the groups, if you are well enough,” he said as he regarded a gash along her shield arm, near her shoulder. 

“I am fine,” she turned back to Dorian. “We are not done here.”

“You never are,” Varric responded under his breath, leading Dorian to the healer's tent. 

It was Cullen who first saw the distant glow of green in the snow, his search party rushing forward. The Herald had not fell with Haven. They had not lost their hero. Their dawn would come. Cullen just hoped that this time when he woke, Dorian would still be with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo new chapter already! Thank you so much to [Jack-the-Giantkiller](http://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionjack) for betaing for me again, and helping me fix all the awkward phrasing that resulted from me writing pretty much all of this at 3 in the morning. Only one chapter left! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and for the kudo's <3 you guys are the best. Changed it to mature mostly for the next chapter


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